


We're Soaring (Flying)

by adventarson (orphan_account)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fantasy AU, Gen, I took ATEEZ's Illusion concept and Ran, Jeno is a cat, M/M, Mark is a tired wizard?, Open Ending, legit just the cotton candy fantasy au nobody asked for, lisgiddit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 10:38:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/adventarson
Summary: The house has landed on a sloping hill. As far as Mark can tell, it’s still well before dawn, although the sky is starting to turn a beautiful turquoise low over the horizon. Mark takes a few steps until his toes curl into the soft grass and breathes the air in.He should probably secure the house, but he’s always been a big believer in the Winds. If they’ve swept him here, they won’t sweep him away until his time here is over. Whatever he needs to do here, the house isn’t going anywhere until the Universe sees that it’s done.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Mark Lee & Everyone, if you squint a bit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	We're Soaring (Flying)

**Author's Note:**

> “““I’ll hopefully have more time to write when I graduate in a couple weeks””” haHA
> 
> Joke’s on me ‘cause apparently I write better under the crushing pressure of impending failure and doom BUT 
> 
> Here I am,,, months later,,,,,,, with a fantasy AU not a single soul asked for.

Mark is woken by a soft _thud_.

He blinks awake and swings his feet out of bed, staring at the wall for a moment before he gets up. He can’t feel any movement, so they must have landed somewhere. His planetometer is still spinning, and the coordiogram looks fine. Mark scratches his shoulder and pads into the hallway.

“Where are we?” Mark asks Jeno, who’s curled up on the windowsill. Jeno flicks his tail, but doesn’t answer. Mark scoffs, and opens the door.

The house has landed on a sloping hill. As far as Mark can tell, it’s still before dawn, although the sky is starting to turn a beautiful turquoise low over the horizon. Mark takes a few steps until his toes curl into the soft grass and breathes the air in. He should probably secure the house, but he’s always been a big believer in the Winds. If they’ve swept him here, they won’t sweep him away until his time here is over. Whatever he needs to do here, the house isn’t going anywhere until the Universe sees that it’s done.

Mark shivers a little in his light shirt and trudges back up the steps. Years ago, landing held a sort of anticipation. Reverence, almost, for a new challenge. Now, Mark just pads back into his bedroom to pull on a pair of light pants and shoes.

Retrieving his identification badge and a small tin of coins from the top drawer in the hallway, Mark stops with one hand on the door.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” he tells Jeno. Jeno gives no sign of having heard him, and Mark has half a mind to stick his tongue out at him. He finally decides not to, and closes the door behind him without bolting it. There’s no need for bolts and locks, not when he’s favoured by the Universe, and not while Jeno is sleeping on the windowsill.

Mark treks across the wide open hills for a while, vaguely heading in the direction of the pink clouds he’d seen earlier. The sun has yet to rise, and Mark pulls his thin scarf tighter around his neck. The sky is a beautiful purple now, though, and Mark sits down at a crossroads for a while.

The Universe is giving him no signs as to which of the roads he should take. The Universe is the Power, and Mark is just the Hand. A few minutes pass. A few brightly coloured birds shriek as they fly down into the valley, a vague sound of thundering water, a gentle breeze though the high grass. Nothing out of the Ordinary. Mark sighs and reaches for the apple he’d shoved into his pocket.

He’s just about to bite into it, when he sees there are teeth marks in it. The teeth marks are not his – the teeth that bit into his apple are straighter than Mark’s, and Mark stares at it for a moment. Then there’s a whole chunk gone from the apple, and Mark watches as his apple is eaten away in his hand until only the core remains. That would be a Sign. Not that it means anything to Mark right now, his stomach growling, empty. He’ll know what it means when he sees it. Probably. He stands up to throw the core farther back into the grass.

When Mark looks up, he can clearly see a faint pink haze over the path to his right. He brushes his pants off and starts walking.

It takes Mark almost an hour to cross the ridge of the hill, and all of a sudden he’s on the edges of a town. It clings to the edge of the valley, with steep cobblestone roads and brightly coloured roofs. The street is fairly empty, with a few bleary villagers just starting to wake up. Most of them are covering their hair, Mark realises, and pulls his own scarf up over his head. He still doesn’t blend in, with his grey linen pants and white shirt, and he’s getting a few sideways glances from the brightly-clad villagers. Talk always runs in small, cut-off villages like this, but Mark isn’t going to be here for long anyway.

Mark ducks into a nearby shop with bright posters in the window, barely visible behind large bouquets of dried herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling. The girl at the register smiles brightly at Mark. He smiles back, and turns to the shelves. It’s a small shop, with tall bookshelves crammed full of even more dried herbs and flowers reaching all the way up to the high ceiling. Mark glances at the illustrations on the labels, comforted that these are herbs he actually knows, and turns back to the girl at the register.

“Do you, um,” Mark starts, and realises he doesn’t know what language they speak here. “I’m travelling, and I was wondering where I’d find the town hall?” he asks in Standard Tongue, and prays to the Winds that the education system teaches that here. The girl smiles brightly again.

“Sure! You just follow any of the main roads and you’ll end up at Exordium Square.” She glances Mark up and down. “Where’re you from?”

“I’ve just come from Mad City,” Mark says, only sort of avoiding her question, and the girl lights up.

“Oh! My uncle lives there.” Mark glances around, scans the headlines of the newspapers on the rack behind the counter.

“It’s a nice city,” Mark agrees distractedly. The newspapers seem to be talking about a sheep festival happening either next week or next month, Mark’s not sure. It’s a broad dialect of a language Mark hasn’t used in decades, and a sheep festival barely seems like anything the Universe would send him here for. “Have a good day,” Mark says, and the girl waves as he lets the door fall shut behind him.

There’s more people on the streets now, and Mark easily slips into the crowd. Everyone is dressed colourfully, in bright turqouises and deep reds and sunny yellows, and there’s a haze of smoke from street food vendors that gives the whole street an almost dreamlike quality. Mark doesn’t let himself get caught up in it, slipping his way down the winding streets in the direction the shopgirl had pointed him.

The crowd thickens as Mark gets closer to what he assumes is the Exordium Square. He’s elbowed in the ribs by old ladies and almost trips over a few children weaving their way through the legs of the crowd. Just as Mark steps over a bright orange cat, a hush falls over the crowd. Mark barely notices, but all of a sudden he’s standing completely alone on the street. The villagers are walking quickly, heads down, along the sides of the street, and it’s easy to spot why.

In the middle of the street, directly facing Mark, are eight people. Mark blinks, then ducks his head to shuffle in to the side of the street. The eight men – Mark squints – _boys_, they can’t be much older than Mark is, (than Mark had been), stroll down the street, oozing with confidence. One of them, with hair short in the front and surprisingly long in the back, plucks an apple from a nearby fruit stand.

“Thanks, buddy!” the boy says, and the vendor smiles shakily.

“Anytime, Captain,” the vendor replies with a wobbly smile, and Mark frowns. He’s half-tucked away in an alley, but it’s clear the villagers are terrified. Yet the boys, and their captain, seem completely unfazed. They smile and wave at the villagers, and seem completely unaware of how afraid they are.

The captain takes a bite of the apple, and something in Mark’s chest settles. _These_ boys are what the Winds have sent him here for. Mark watches as the boys stroll down the street, and the crowd gradually begins to trickle back in. Mark watches for another moment before slipping back into the crowd.

He walks slowly, stopping to consider an apple at the fruit stand the captain had stopped at. He does his best to look interested, picking up several apples and turning them over.

“Who were they?” Mark asks the vendor, glancing up and picking another apple. The vendor gapes at Mark.

“You must be new here,” the vendor says, then glances over his shoulder. He leans forward conspiratorially, and Mark leans in to listen. “They’s _pirates_,” the vendor hisses, then leans back. Mark glances back in the direction the pirates had disappeared.

“Are they a problem?” Mark asks, giving the apple he’s holding a squeeze. The vendor shrugs.

“Depends on who you ask,” he answers. “If you ask me, they’re nothin’ but trouble. They don’t pay for ‘emself, and they stomp into Minnie’s restaurant without taking off ‘eir muddy boots.” The vendor shudders. “But, if you ask the kids,” he shrugs again, “they like ‘em. Says their ship is cool.” Mark turns his apple over again, then hands the vendor the coins to pay for it.

“Sorry to hear that,” Mark says, and the vendor waves a little as Mark walks away. The Universe wants him to deal with some pirates. That’s fine. Mark can do that.

Exordium Square is… for a lack of better words, quite extraordinary. It’s more circular than square in shape, ringed by what Mark would describe as oversized cottages, several stories tall with whitewashed walls and thatched roofs. The windowsills are overflowing with bright flowers Mark can’t name, and there are bright banners and flags hanging off their façades. In the very middle is a tall tower, far taller than any of the other buildings, painted a bright blue. It vaguely reminds Mark of a children’s story he read once.

More importantly, the large tower is emblazoned with a coat of arms Mark thinks might be the valley’s sigil – rolling blue-green hills with a sprig of some berry bush in the foreground.

As soon Mark steps through the door, the bright atmosphere of the Square dissipates. The town outside had been overflowing with bright colours, a comfortable bustle of people, street vendors shouting and children laughing. This reception is grey and stuffy, and the receptionist keeps glancing at Mark nervously as he scribbles something in a notepad.

“Um, hi,” Mark starts, but the receptionist holds up a hand.

_Wait a minute_, he mouths, and Mark shuts his mouth again. The room is almost a little cold, and Mark pulls his scarf a little tighter around himself. There’s a faded poster on the wall, a smiling child with bright blue hair proudly proclaiming _Welcome to Weboum!_ Mark scans through the information. Something about beautiful nature, prize-winning sheep and a special type of berry. Mark lets his eyes flit around the room. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust, traces of cobwebs hang in the corners of the ceiling, and the plant on the receptionist’s desk is wilting.

“How can I help ya?” the receptionist cuts in, and Mark startles back to him.

“Right, yeah,” Mark digs in his pocket for his identification badge and flips it open for the receptionist. “Agent Mark Lee, Rank One-Two-Seven, Envoy of the Universe, at your service,” he recites. The receptionist looks at him with wide eyes.

“Wha–”

“I’m here to help. I think you’ve got a problem with pirates?” Mark charges on. His hands are itching as he returns his badge to his pocket, and he clenches and unclenches them a few times.

“We– Yeah, hol’ on.” The receptionist disappears behind a threadbare curtain behind the desk. Mark drums a beat against his thigh. It’s been like this for a few years, now. A constant itch, just under his skin, that nothing seems to be able to scratch.

After a few minutes, the receptionist returns from behind the curtain.

“The mayor’s mighty busy at the mo’,” he starts, and Mark strains to understand him through the thick dialect. “Guess a meet’n tomorrow coulda fit?”

“Meeting tomorrow sounds good,” Mark replies after a moment, staring as the receptionist scratches something onto his notepad.

“Name?” the receptionist demands without looking up.

“Mark Lee.” The receptionist scrawls something else.

“Right, Mr Mark – can I call you Lee?”

“Um, it’s– Lee Mark. Sorry.” The receptionist draws a large circle around the runes of Mark’s given name and adds several arrows pointing to it. Mark stares for a moment as the ink bleeds across the paper.

“Mr Lee, then, no worries. The mayor’ll see ya at noon. Thank you and goodbye.” The receptionist gives him a dismissive smile, and Mark makes himself smile back before turning to step out of the door.

Stepping out into the bright sunlight and clear air feels euphoric. Mark takes a deep breath, almost coughing as the dust from the disused reception leaves his lungs. Now, all Mark needs to do is stock his pantries and wait for tomorrow.

Mark isn’t surprised to find five boys on his couch when he comes home. He is surprised to see Jeno curled up in the lap of one of them, though.

“I see you’ve met Jeno,” Mark says as way of greeting, and the five boys startle. They look quite young, possibly a little younger than Mark had been when he left home, and none of them have what Mark would consider normal hair colours. (Of course, having travelled the Universe for this long, Mark’s not sure what _normal_ is anymore).

“We haven’t stolen anything,” a boy with stormy grey hair says immediately, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Mark shrugs a little.

“If you had, Jeno would be showing you the rage of the Winds.” The boy with bright red hair stops petting Jeno for a moment and looks up at Mark.

“Is this Jeno?” he asks, immediately winding his fingers back into Jeno’s thick fur when Jeno digs his claws into his leg.

“Yes,” Mark answers, and the boy with bright pink hair coos at Jeno. Jeno seems to preen under the attention and stretches out across their laps, purring so loud Mark can hear it from across the room. “Do you like apples?” he asks them. They all stare at Mark. Mark isn’t fazed. He’s too old for this sort of thing to faze him, has fought too many Hafters and seen too many villages and tickled too many Nirkle dragons.

“Renjun ate an apple yesterday.” The round-faced boy with bright orange hair is looking at Mark with wide eyes, and the others whack him. The pirates are the only thing he has to fix here, then.

“Shut up, Chenle,” the stormy-haired boy hisses, and Mark watches them. They’re clearly out of their depth here, fidgeting and glancing around the house. But the village is a long way from here, and they wouldn’t have found the house if the Universe hadn’t willed it. So Mark lets out a small sigh and sits down in his favourite armchair opposite the boys. They’ve got to have something to do with the pirate problem, Mark just has to figure out _what_.

“I’m Mark,” he says. The boys glance at each other, and something that Mark doesn’t catch seems to pass between them. They all relax into their seats and introduce themselves. The stormy-haired boy is Donghyuck, the red-haired boy with crooked teeth is Renjun, the boy with the orange hair is Chenle, and the pink-haired boy is Jaemin.

“Are you a wizard?” Jisung, with electric blue hair, asks.

“Nope,” Mark says. He isn’t, really. The Universe does all the magic, and Mark just… directs it.

“We found books about sigils under your bed,” Donghyuck says in an accusatory tone, a pointed look on his face. Jaemin whacks him.

“You don’t tell the evil wizard you looked under his bed,” Renjun hisses, and Mark closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why the Winds placed him here, or why the Universe led these boys to his house, but he knows he won’t be able to leave until his job here is done. He opens his eyes again and finds all five boys staring at him. Jeno is staring at him, too, yellow eyes slitted, and Mark grimaces.

“Why did you decide to raid my house?” Mark asks, settling for a simpler question than a straightforward _Why am I here?_

“We were looking for thawberries,” Chenle answers. “But then,” he shrugs. “We got kind of lost?” They all glance at each other again, and Mark has this strange feeling of something passing over his head. He’s not used to being clueless like this. He can speak fifty-three languages, knows sixteen different sets of runes, can draw more sigils and seals than he cares to count, but this wordless communication is entirely beyond him.

“We found your cat,” Jisung supplies, and Mark glares at Jeno.

“I think your car found us, actually,” Jaemin adds, scratching Jeno behind the ears fondly, and Jeno’s purrs rumble through the room. Mark glares at him.

“And the natural thing to do when a black cat leads you to a weird house on a hill is to look through it,” Donghyuck adds, still defiant. Mark lets himself sink further into his armchair.

“How old are you?” Jisung asks, stretching out a careful hand to brush through Jeno’s neck fur. Jeno is basking in the attention, and Mark watches him for a moment before answering. These kids seem completely harmless, and it doesn’t matter anyway. Mark will be gone as soon as he’s fixed the pirate problem.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, and the boys all look up. “I’d just turned nineteen when I left.” The boys are still looking at him. Jeno mewls at the lack of attention.

“You look about nineteen,” Chenle says at the same time as Jaemin asks, “How long ago did you leave?” Mark isn’t sure of how to respond to either of them.

“I think it’s been a long time,” he says after a while, and the boys fall quiet. The only sounds in the small room are Jeno’s purrs and the soft tinkle of the windchimes on the front porch.

“And you’re not a wizard,” Donghyuck says. He looks comfortable enough in the couch, feet on Mark’s coffee table and an elbow on the armrest, but he also looks ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Mark just shrugs, bouncing his leg.

“I’m just Favoured,” Mark says, and they all nod politely. Mark gauges their reactions. They’ve probably not grown up with the Stories and the Faith Mark did, then. He glances at the cosmotron in the corner, then at Jeno, stretched out across their laps. Mark sighs. “I’m gonna cook some dinner,” Mark says tentatively. Chenle jumps out of his seat.

“I’ll help!” he says brightly, and Mark blinks a few times. “My mother says I’m very good at preparing the spices.” Mark can’t remember if he used to help his own mother with the cooking or not.

The boys all follow Mark into the kitchen, Jisung and Donghyuck hopping up to sit on his kitchen counters and Jaemin rooting through his pantry for ingredients. It’s messy, and Mark almost swears as he trips over Chenle trying to help him. Renjun silently sidles up to Mark and starts chopping vegetables, quietly commenting how blunt his knives are, and Mark very narrowly manages to stop himself from sighing.

Valley boys eat like starved coil dragons, Mark finds. He cooked all he could find in his pantry, but he can still hear Jaemin’s stomach growling when their plates are clean.

“That was very good, thank you Mr Wizard,” Chenle says, putting his spoon down.

“My name is Mark.” He doesn’t bother correcting him on the wizard bit. Jeno burps, and Jaemin has the sense to look at least a little guilty when Mark raises an eyebrow.

“I think we should be heading back soon,” Renjun says, glancing out the window at the bright red sky. “Our parents will be worried.” Mark straightens in his seat.

“Why’s that?” he asks. Renjun glances at the others.

“Well, I’m not sure our parents are huge fans of us eating dinner with a suspicious wizard,” Donghyuck says, immediately wincing, and Mark guesses someone has kicked him under the table.

“They don’t trust the pirates,” Jisung says after a moment’s silence. “And, well. They came flying.” He gestures vaguely around the kitchen. “You came flying.” He shrugs. Mark closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Of course he has to deal with _flying_ pirates. The Universe must really have it in for him.

“They’ve got a flying ship,” Renjun supplies. “It’s somewhere on the other side of town.”

“It’s pretty cool,” Jaemin says, and winces as he presumably gets kicked.

“Why do you want to know about the pirates, anyway?” Donghyuck asks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He has half a sneer on, stormy expression matching his grey-blue hair.

“The Winds sent me here for a reason.” Mark shrugs. “I need to solve whatever problem it is the Universe wants me to solve before I can move on. I’ve been getting signs that it’s the pirates.”

“What signs?” Donghyuck asks, a little too quickly. He leans back in his seat again and puts on an indifferent expression again. “I mean, that sounds dumb.” They’re all looking at him expectantly, though, and Mark folds his hands in his lap carefully.

“Well,” he starts. “My apple was… eaten, this morning.” They all stare at Mark as he explains. 

“You mean… magic?” Chenle asks, eyes wide. “I mean, did it just disappear, or did it go somewhere?” Mark opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“So you _do_ do magic,” Donghyuck cuts in, glancing sharply at Renjun before turning back to glare at Mark. 

“I don’t _do_ magic,” Mark snaps back. “Magic happens _to_ me and _around_ me, but I don’t _do_ it.” Mark realises he’s raised his voice, and sinks back into his chair.

“I’m sure you’ll get to retire soon, Mr Wizard,” Chenle says after a moment, reaching out to rub Mark’s shoulder. _That’s not what I meant_, Mark thinks, but relaxes a little under Chenle’s hand. _Isn’t it?_ a small voice at the back of his head asks quietly. Mark shakes it away.

“Well,” Mark says loudly, pushing his chair back. The others quickly follow suit. “It was nice having you here.” They all scamper around to find their shoes and their scarves, and then finally, _finally_, Mark can close the door behind them. He stays leaned against the door for a moment, letting the tension run out of his body as he takes a deep breath.

When he looks up, Jeno is sitting on the windowsill, yellow eyes watching Mark reproachfully.

“Don’t lead them here again, alright? I don’t want them here.” Jeno blinks once, and Mark sighs. “We fix the pirate problem, then we get to leave. We don’t need to get caught up in everything that happens in this town.” Jeno just shuffles around until he’s facing away from Mark, muzzle pressed against the window. Mark gives him a long look.

“I’m going to bed,” he says finally. Jeno doesn’t look up, and Mark slams the bedroom door behind him.

The next morning, Mark wakes up with a headache.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and stays in bed for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. There’s a small water stain near the window frame he should probably take a look at. He’ll fix it next week. Probably.

The door creaks open, and Jeno leaps up to sit at the foot of the bed. Jeno stares at Mark, unblinking, until Mark swings his legs out of bed.

“I’m sorry about slamming the door yesterday,” Mark says. Jeno stays still for a moment before padding over to push his head against Mark’s hand. Mark scratches his ears a little, then pushes himself out of bed. “We’ve got important things to do today,” he tells Jeno sternly when the cat mewls. “No time for scratches.”

Today Mark makes sure to wrap a scarf over his head and pocket his badge. He stops, hand on the doorknob, and turns to Jeno.

“And please, don’t bring the boys here,” he tells him. Jeno blinks at him from the windowsill, but Mark knows there’s a balloon’s chance in a hailstorm of Jeno actually listening to him. Mark sighs, and lets the the door fall shut behind him.

Like yesterday, there’s a haze of soft pink clouds hanging over the valley that lends a gentler hue to the vivid green and turquoise grass and sky. Mark doesn’t let himself linger; he’ll be leaving in a few days. He can’t let himself have anything here to miss when he’s gone.

He sets a brisk pace. By the time he reaches the outskirts of the village, his feet are burning, but Mark pushes onward until he’s standing outside the town hall. He lets himself have a short moment to catch his breath, but the volume and the bustle of the crowd on the square makes his head pound, and Mark ducks inside.

The same receptionist as yesterday looks up, raises his eyebrows in recognition and gets up from his chair.

“Mr Lee! Right ‘is way, ‘f you please.” Mark follows him around the desk and behind the curtain. Beyond the threadbare curtain is a staircase. Mark cranes his head, following it story after story as it disappears up into the tower. The receptionist is bounding up it two steps at a time, and Mark scrambles to follow.

When they finally reach the top, Mark is completely out of breath. The receptionist is standing by a heavy wooden door, foot tapping against the floor as he waits for Mark to catch his breath. When Mark nods, he jerks the door open and leads Mark into a large room.

It’s the shape of a half-moon, with a long table along the length of it and countless dusty bookshelves sagging with paperwork lining the walls. At the head of the table sits a man with dusty pink hair, a deep furrow in his brow as he hunches over a stack of papers. The man looks up as Mark and the receptionist enter, and he immediately rises from his chair when he spots Mark.

“Ah! You must be Lee Mark.” The man – the mayor, Mark supposes – strides over, stretching out a hand for Mark to shake. Gone are the deep lines in his forehead, his shoulders squared and handshake firm. “I’m mayor Junmyeon, I hope the valley is treating you well.” Mark opens his mouth to reply with more niceties, but Mayor Junmyeon strides back to the table and pulls out a chair. Mark hurries to take the seat, the mayor only sitting down once Mark has.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Mayor Junmyeon gestures at his scarf and shoes. Mark quickly toes his shoes off under the table and unwinds his scarf to hang across his shoulders like Mayor Junmyeon’s.

“Agent Lee Mark, Rank 127, Envoy of the Universe, at your service,” Mark rattles off, digging in his pocket for his badge and handing it to the mayor. Mayor Junmyeon picks it up, confident smile faltering a little as he reads over Mark’s information.

“Envoy of the Universe,” he says faintly, then squares his shoulders again. “How can we help you?”

“I hear you have problem with pirates,” Mark says, and watches how Mayor Junmyeon seems to age ten years before his eyes.

“Yes, the pirates.” The mayor takes a deep breath. “They arrived sometime last month, and all they’ve done is wreak havoc.” Mark nods to prompt him to continue. “They steal, and they don’t bother to even try following our most basic norms of manners, and–” The mayor stops himself, takes a breath and puts on another smile. “We’d very much appreciate your help, Agent.”

“Anytime, Mayor. How would you like to draft a formal appeal of sorts?” The words tumble out of Mark’s mouth without any memory of formulating them. _The Universe wills it_. Mayor Junmyeon brightens.

“Oh, I would love nothing more! Just a second, I’ll get a pen and paper…”

The contract is easily written, with a good few prompts from the Universe. Only a few pages long, with paragraphs and clauses prompting the pirate’s exemplary behaviour, complete recompensation and immediate departure. 

Mayor Junmyeon looks it over, then signs his name on one of the two dotted lines at the bottom with a flourish.

“Well then, Agent, I’m very grateful for your assistance.” Mayor Junmyeon makes to get up from the table, and Mark jerks forward to lay a hand over the papers.

“Mayor, sir, how about I set up a meeting with both parties tomorrow noon?” Mayor Junmyeon sits back down. “We should all be present to discuss the appeal.” Mayor Junmyeon’s smile fades further, and Mark musters up the last of the strength he has to say, “I’ll inform the pirates myself, sir.”

“Wonderful, Agent, thank you.”

The pirate ship is moored at the other end of the valley from Mark’s house. It’s a large thing, a full-rigger with four massive masts and pink, reefed sails. It floats about fifteen metres above the ground, a thin rope ladder its only other connection to the green grass.

Mark walks until he’s standing in the shadow underneath it, craning his neck to look up at the railing.

“Hello?” he shouts. No answer. Mark waits a moment. “Is anybody home?” Still no answer. Mark shuffles his feet for a minute, then stalks over to the rope ladder and hoists himself up. It swings horribly once both his feet leave the ground, but it’s nothing Mark isn’t used to. He climbs until he can put his elbows on the railing, and there he pauses.

“Hello?”

A head pops out from the wheelhouse.

“Hello?” It’s short, but not unkind, and Mark is taken aback. He’d been expecting shouts, probably a musket, not… whatever this response was.

“Um, I’m Agent Mark– Lee Mark, Rank 127, Envoy of the Universe.” It comes out sounding like a question. “Could I speak to the captain, please?”

“Hold on.” The head disappears again. “Hongjooong!” somebody hollers from within the ship. The head reappears in the doorway, giving Mark a sheepish smile. “He should be here in a minute, he’s–” The door bursts open, and the Captain with the long hair in the back strides out. His boots click against the deck, and the other pirate hurries to follow.

“Who’s this?” the captain asks.

“Some scrawny kid here to see you, says he’s some agent.” The captain looks Mark up and down, arms crossed over his chest, and Mark scrambles to pull up his badge.

“Agent Lee Mark, Rank–” The captain waves a hand, and Mark pauses mid-sentence.

“Welcome aboard, kid! Whaddya want?” Mark stares between the two pirates before hesitantly climbing over the railing and onto the deck.

“I’m Agent Lee Mark–” he starts again, but the captain clicks his tongue.

“My name’s Hongjoong, and your name’s Mark. We settled that. How can we help?” Mark opens and closes his mouth a few times.

“I have a formal invitation from the mayor,” Mark says, and Hongjoong straightens up. “You’re asked to attend a meeting tomorrow at noon.” Hongjoong blinks, then looks up at the other pirate.

“Yunho, we free tomorrow?” The taller pirate nods, then glances back towards the wheelhouse.

“I think San and Wooyoung said they wanted to go to the sheep festival, but–” Hongjoong waves a hand.

“The sheep festival is open all week. We’ve finally been invited to meet the mayor!” Hongjoong turns to smile brightly at Mark. “Noon, you said?” Mark nods. “We’ll all be there!”

“How many of you are there?” Mark asks tentatively.

“Eight makes one team,” Yunho says with practised ease. Mark blinks.

“Do you want to stay? Kids with good news are always welcome!” Hongjoong grins, and Mark does his best to smile back.

“I, uh, really should get going…” Hongjoong laughs, clapping his hands, and Mark feels his ears heat up.

“It’s alright, kid! We’ll see you an’ the mayor at noon tomorrow, eh?”

The house is empty when Mark comes home, save for Jeno snoring on top of the bookshelf. Mark closes the door behind him with a relieved sigh, unwinding his scarf and collapsing into his armchair. For a moment, he just sits there, and listens. The tinkling of the windchimes, the rigging on the roof rattling in the wind, and the gentle snores from Jeno on the bookshelf. There’s the soft sound of creaking on the front porch, and–

Mark’s eyes fly open in the same moment the door bursts open. He jumps out of his armchair, grabbing a pillow and raising his arm to–

Donghyuck is staring at him from the doorway.

“Jesus, wizard, is this how you treat all your guests?” Mark opens and closes his mouth a few times, then finally lowers his arm.

“Only the unexpected ones,” Mark says after a moment, dropping the pillow back into the armchair.

“Fair,” Donghyuck concedes, turning to close the door behind him. They stare at each other for a moment, until Donghyuck makes a vague, impatient gesture. “Well? In these parts, it’s polite to offer your guests a cup of tea.”

“Right.” Mark doesn’t move as Donghyuck unwraps his scarf and toes off his shoes. “Right,” he repeats, and leads the way into the kitchen.

Mark puts the kettle on, and leans against the stove as Donghyuck pokes around in his kitchen bookshelf. He looks genuinely interested, scanning the dusty spines with a fascination Mark is almost surprised by. Donghyuck looks up and catches Mark staring. He sneers, and pulls out a map at random from the bucket next to the bookshelf.

“Watch the face, it’ll stick if the Wind blows,” Mark manages, and Donghyuck sticks his tongue out at him and rolls the map out.

He’s picked Mark’s favourite, the one that shows the World as it is. As it unfurls, mountains rise from the thick paper, water pools in lakes and rivers and clouds form above it all.

Donghyuck’s eyes are wide as saucers as he stares at the map, sneer forgotten.

“Does this– Is it really–” Mark sets down a cup of thawflower tea in front of him.

“That’s the World, yes.” Donghyuck is still staring at the map almost reverently, and Mark takes a nervous sip of his own tea. Donghyuck reaches out a tentative hand to trace the ridge of a mountain, ever so gently. He dips his pinky into the Lake at the centre of the map, and lets out a breathy giggle as his hand passes through a cloud. Donghyuck’s face is completely open, and Mark marvels at how soft it makes him look. He knows his own face is fixed in a near-permanent frown, always fretting at one thing or another. He wonders what he’d look like if the Universe hadn’t swept him away all those years ago.

“It’s–” Donghyuck glances up at Mark, expression open and wondrous, and Mark’s heart skips a beat.

“It is,” Mark agrees, because Donghyuck doesn’t need words. “I got it at a market in…” Mark leans across the table, scanning the map. He finds the town and pokes it with a finger. “There. In Wei Shen.” Donghyuck leans closer to the map, nose almost in the clouds. “I helped the museum manager, Kun, get some stolen paintings back from the president.”

“Have you been… there?” Donghyuck points at another small town in the mountains north of the Lake. Mark squints at it, trying to remember.

“I think so? Wait, yeah, they had a Gimbler problem.” Donghyuck points at another city, glittering in the desert to the south. “Helped investigate a corruption case.” Donghyuck points at another village, and Mark does his best to remember and retell the stories. He’s explaining how he had to negotiate between some water nymphs and a dragon in the Western Woods when somebody else barges through the door. Donghyuck looks at Mark, and together they both scramble to roll up the map and shove it in the pantry.

Jaemin whirls into the kitchen, Jisung following slightly behind, and stops short as he sees Mark and Donghyuck standing guiltily in front of the pantry. Jisung peeks around his shoulder, and after a moment shoves Jaemin into the kitchen.

“What are you two up to?” Jaemin asks.

“Nothing,” Mark says at the same time as Donghyuck says, “None of your damn business.” Jisung snorts, and Jaemin’s eyebrows shoot up. Jaemin opens his mouth, and Donghyuck flies across the room to poke a warning finger to the middle of his chest.

“Do _not_,” Donghyuck threatens, and Mark watches in confusion as a wide grin spreads over Jaemin’s face. 

“Okay,” Jaemin says, still grinning. “I won’t.” Mark glances at Jisung, who’s poking at the dirty dishes in Mark’s sink, then at Donghyuck. When he turns around again, Mark sees that his ears are glowing red. Donghyuck pointedly avoids looking at Mark.

“I left a note for Chenle and Renjun,” Jisung says loudly, and Mark and Donghyuck jump. “They’re probably coming over later, too.” He looks up at Mark. “They’ll bring food, probably.” Mark breathes a sigh of relief.

Jisung wanders out of the kitchen, and Mark follows. It’s mostly manners, but Jisung seems to have a knack for stumbling over everything and there are a couple of things Mark would rather he didn’t break. Jaemin and Donghyuck trail after, collapsing in the couch on either side of Jeno. Mark gingerly lowers himself into his armchair, keeping one eye on Jisung.

“What’s these for?” Jisung picks two books from the bookshelf and holds them up. Mark squints a little.

“Um, the first one’s about the cultural patterns of mountain dryads, and the other’s a collection of children’s stories.” Jisung considers the books for a moment, then walks over to hand them to Mark.

“What languages are they in?” Donghyuck asks, leaning forward. “I don’t…” Mark turns the books over.

“This one’s in the Standard Tongue.” Mark hands the book about mountain dryads to Donghyuck. “This one…” The book feels heavier than it should in Mark’s hands. It’s quite thin, with spidery script along the edges of the cover, and the leather bindings are dry and cracked. Mark runs a thumb across the bottom corner, where a small hand has scrawled, in childish runes, _Mark_. “It’s children’s stories from my hometown.” Jeno opens his eyes slightly to glare at him, and Mark puts the book on the coffee table. The three of them stare at it, but they don’t move to pick it up.

“That looks _old_, dude,” Jaemin says after a few beats, and the weird tension is gone. Jisung snickers, and Mark swears the cough Jeno lets out is a laugh. Jaemin and Donghyuck jump off the couch and start plucking books out at random. Mark closes his eyes and counts to ten, then takes a deep breath and squints at the books they hold up.

“What are you doing?” Renjun asks, and Mark spins around. Renjun and Chenle are standing in the open doorway, already toeing their shoes off and hanging up their scarves.

“They’re raiding my bookcase,” Mark says, and Chenle lights up while Renjun rolls his eyes. Chenle scuttles over to join them while Renjun kicks off his shoes, and Mark has to close his eyes for a second again. Renjun sinks into the couch, and Jeno immediately bounds up to settle in his lap. They watch the others as they pore over the books, occasionally holding one up to argue about which language it’s in or laugh at a bad illustration.

Eventually, Donghyuck leaves them and collapses next to Renjun in the couch. The move jostles Jeno, who hisses. Donghyuck hisses back, and Jeno startles.

“That’s quite the bookcase,” Donghyuck says after a moment, voice neutral, but he’s got the same spark in his eyes he’d had when he was looking at the map earlier. Mark just hums.

“Do you have food?” Jaemin asks. He doesn’t wait for Mark to answer before disappearing into the kitchen, Jeno hopping off Renjun’s lap to trail hopefully behind him.

“I should make sure he doesn’t burn anything,” Renjun mutters, pushing himself out of the sofa. Donghyuck snorts next to him.

“What?”

“You look like your grandmother sheared your sheep,” Donghyuck says, and Mark squints at the idiom. “They’re good at cooking, you don’t need to worry.” Mark opens his mouth to respond that he’s not worried at all, he was just— when Chenle sticks a book under his nose.

“Can you read it?” Mark takes the book and scans the cover. It’s an epic, an ancient love story written in verse from when the Lake had still covered the whole World. “Please?” Chenle’s eyes are bright, and Jisung is peeking curiously over his shoulder.

“Okay,” Mark responds after a moment. “Yeah, sure.” Chenle grins, and he and Jisung sit down next to Mark. Mark folds the cover open and lingers at the small handwritten scribble on its inside.

“What does it say?” Donghyuck asks, scooting closer.

“Uh,” Mark says, brain whirring to translate. “_Forever grateful for your aid with the Golterfish, love from Taeyong_.” 

“Who’s Taeyong?” Jisung asks.

“Somebody I helped with a Golterfish.” Mark avoids the question. He doesn’t want to think about it. If he does, he’ll start to miss it—Taeyong’s cooking, dumb jokes and generally parental behaviour that had made Mark feel taken care of for the first time in decades. He can’t think about it. “Here goes: _Once upon a time_…” 

Halfway through the third chapter, Renjun and Jaemin emerge from the kitchen, Renjun with a large pot of soup and Jaemin with Jeno in his arms. They silently hand out bowls, listening as Mark reads aloud. It’s a tragic story, and Mark pretends he can’t hear Chenle sniffling when the protagonist’s mother dies.

Mark’s voice breaks somewhere right before the end, faltering under the pressure of so much use after so long. Renjun wordlessly hands him another bowl of soup, and Donghyuck picks the book up to continue. His tongue is clumsy on the sharper consonants of the Standard Tongue, but he struggles through the rest of the book until he can snap it shut into dramatic silence.

“Wow,” Chenle says after a moment. “That’s–”

“–yucky,” Jisung interrupts, wrinkling his nose. “Did there have to be so much mush? I wanted to know more about the sea monster.” 

“The sea monster was the princess, you sheep,” Renjun retorts. “She got turned by the mermaid, remember?” Jaemin’s eyebrows draw together, and he opens his mouth to argue.

“But wasn’t the whole point that–” 

“It’s getting late,” Chenle interrupts, and Mark closes his eyes in silent gratitude to the Universe for giving at least one of the boys some sense. “Look, the wizard is falling asleep!” Mark very narrowly holds back a deep sigh, opening his eyes again.

“Thank you for the story, Mr Wizard,” Jisung says as Mark follows them to the door.

“No worries,” Mark replies, then continues before he can shut his mouth, “you’re welcome anytime.” Jeno hops out of Jaemin’s arms to weave between Mark’s legs, purring loudly. The boys all light up, looking at each other.

“Jolly!” Chenle beams. “We’ll see if we can visit you again, Mr Wizard.” Mark smiles, then keeps smiling and waving as they all file out the door. It’s with a sigh of relief that Mark can finally close the door behind them, and he lets out a deep breath as the door clicks.

“These boys are absolutely exhausting,” Mark tells Jeno, who narrows his eyes at Mark. “I need to sleep, especially if they’re coming over tomorrow again.” Jeno weaves another figure eight through Mark’s legs, purring loudly again.

Jeno is curled up at the end of Mark’s bed when he wakes up. Mark stays completely still, doesn’t dare move a muscle lest it disturb Jeno. He hasn’t slept next to Mark in… years. Probably not since he was a kitten, decades ago. Mark watches Jeno breathe, the soft fur of his belly rising and falling in a steady rhythm. There’s a pale stripe of early dawn light across the room, and the windchimes tinkle softly outside. Mark’s hands are still against the blanket, warmth coursing syrupy through him. He lets himself slip back into sleep.

It’s only about a half hour later that Jeno finally stirs. First, the twitch of an ear, then he’s yawning and stretching his long legs. Mark yawns too, then pulls the blanket back and swings his legs out of bed. He stays sitting for a moment, toes curling into the soft carpet, before padding into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Mark and Jeno lounge around for as long as they can. Mark rereads a poetry collection he’d been given by Johnny, decades ago, Jeno splayed along the armrest, until he has to drag himself from his armchair. He has a meeting to attend.

But even as he reluctantly pulls his shoes on, there’s a faint sigh of relief. He’ll get through this meeting, the mayor and the pirates agree to the formal appeal that they can sign, and Mark gets to leave. It’ll be just him and Jeno again, flying until the Winds see it fit to put them down again. 

Of course that’s not how it goes.

Lightning crackles as Mark steps through the doors of the City Hall, followed by a heavy rumble that rattles the door on its hinges. It makes the hairs on the back of Mark’s neck stand up. The Universe doesn’t deal in coincidences.

The eight pirates are crammed into the reception, one of them dragging his hand through the thick layer of dust on the windowsill and two others arguing with the receptionist. That rings the second warning bell.

“What do you mean _we can’t go up_?” one sneers. “We’re here to see the mayor.”

“A mean am no’ lettin’ you go up ‘ere!” the receptionist snips back. The pirate bristles, opening his mouth to retort, but Mark quickly steps forward.

“Ah, hello!” He smiles at the pirates. They glower at him. Mark turns to smile at the receptionist. “If that’s alright, I can accompany them up to the meeting room.” The receptionist hesitates, but Mark smiles and charges on. He turns to the room. He has to stand on his tiptoes to see everybody. “We’ll be making our way up to the mayor now.” He doesn’t pause to see if they’re following him.

“Single file, please!” the receptionist shouts after them, a faint hint of resignation in his voice. Mark grits his teeth. _Get this over with, go home_. Mark takes a breath and pushes up the stairs, the thundering of sixteen boots ringing through the stairwell.

The door at the top of the staircase is closed. Mark stops, hears swearing as the pirates bump into each other. Mark waits until they’re still, then lifts his hand to knock. He hears scuffling behind the door, two of the pirates muttering something to each other. Then the door swings open to reveal a beaming Mayor Junmyeon, who stretches out a hand for Mark to shake. Mark does, then steps past him to stand at the left of the mayor’s chair. The pirates all file past Mayor Junmyeon, each of them shaking his hand enthusiastically before entering.

Mayor Junmyeon makes a small face as the last pirate files into the room, then carefully reconstructs his smile.

“Feel free to take a seat, gentlemen,” the mayor says. The pirates stay standing in a clump along one side of the room. Another clap of thunder rolls through the room, and the hairs on Mark’s arms stand up. Third warning bell. The mayor glances at Mark.

“The village is issuing a formal appeal for your departure,” Mark says, taking a small step forward. The pirates blink, and it’s so easy to see them as one cohesive unit instead of eight separate people. Mark shakes his head to scatter the idea.

“A what?” Hongjoong speaks up. “You want us to leave?”

“That’s right.” The mayor squares his shoulders and hands over the formal piece of writing Mark had helped him write yesterday. Hongjoong barely looks at it before passing it off to the side. It gets passed around, barely read, but they all start murmuring to each other. After a moment, Hongjoong looks up.

“We don’t want to,” he says loudly. A flash of lightning briefly strips the room of shadow. Fourth warning bell. The mayor places his hands calmly on the back of his usual chair.

“Why not?” the mayor asks. Mark can see the tips of his ears slowly colouring to match his hair. The pirates mutter between themselves, shuffling restlessly. “Why are you here?” the mayor reiterates. He’s gripping the back of his chair, knuckles white. 

“Looking for treasure,” Hongjoong answers, as it it were obvious. And maybe it is, Mark thinks: pirates, after all, are always looking for treasure.

“Gold? We can give you gold, just—” Another tall pirate with sharp eyes scoffs.

“_Gold_ isn’t the only treasure,” he spits, and the other pirates murmur in agreement. The mayor is looking more flustered by the minute, ears matching his hair and his hands clenching and unclenching on the back of the chair. His eyes dart to Mark.

“The village is issuing a formal appeal for your departure,” Mark says, again, taking another step forward next to Mayor Junmyeon.

“But why?” Mark can’t tell who spoke. All eight of them are standing in a defensive clump, wary eyes flicking between Mark and the mayor. A pin could drop in the corner of the room and they would react as one being, Mark thinks, illogically.

“You’re leeching off the economy, your ship has no official license, and you have no rights to be on Valley sheep grazing grounds.” Mark recites the reasons listed in the formal appeal. The words seem to just glance off the pirates, who don’t move a muscle.

“We’re pirates,” the tall pirate with the soft face – Yunho, Mark remembers – finally says. “This is what we do.”

“Do it somewhere else!” Mayor Junmyeon finally snaps, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders. Hongjoong draws himself up in response, raising his chin and staring Mayor Junmyeon down.

“I don’t think we will,” he says, and the two men stare at each other for a long, tense moment. “Come on, boys, we’re leaving.” The pirates file out of the room, and as soon as the last one has slammed the door, Mayor Junmyeon collapses into the nearest chair. 

Thunder crashes outside. It feels appropriate, in a way, and Mark wonders if the Universe sent the storm to warn them of the pirate’s ill tempers, or if it just wants to spite them, put the icing on the cake. The Universe doesn’t deal in coincidences.

“Mr Mayor,” Mark starts, but Mayor Junmyeon holds up a hand.

“Agent, maybe this is a mission doomed to fail,” the mayor says. His voice is so quiet and broken Mark can barely make it out over the thundering of rain on the roof above them. “Maybe I should resign.” It’s no more than a whisper, but it rings in Mark’s ears as loud as if he’d shouted it.

“No, Mr Mayor,” Mark says immediately without memory of formulating the words. He takes a careful seat next to the mayor. “That’s not the answer. This is you valley, and it’s your job to take care of your villagers.” Mark’s hand hesitates over Mayor Junmyeon’s shoulder, but he retracts it at the last second. “They need you. What proves your worth as a mayor isn’t about how many times you fall. It’s how many times you get back up.”

Mayor Junmyeon looks up at him then, and Mark almost recoils when he sees the unshed tears in his eyes. He forces himself to stay still, to look as comforting and steady and sure as he can. He has to be the adult, the guide and the reliable one.

“You’re right,” the mayor whispers after a long moment. “By the Winds, you’re right, Agent.” He scrubs his hands over his face and smiles sadly down at the appeal. “I guess we’ll have to schedule another meeting, hey?” 

“I’ll talk to the pirates tomorrow, Mr Mayor,” Mark promises, and the silent gratitude in the mayor’s form is almost enough. Almost.

Mark comes home with a terrible headache. He opens his door, sopping wet from the rain, and does his best not to cry when he finds the five boys on his couch again. They look up at the sound of the door, and Jaemin and Renjun fly out of their seats.

“Did you get caught in the rain?” Jaemin asks, tugging at his sleeve. “Where do you keep your towels?” Mark had wanted to be _alone_ to wallow in self-pity and drink five cups of thawflower tea, maybe with a sting of that westbrew he keeps at the back of his closet, but when Jisung hands him a dry towel Chenle had found in his bathroom and Renjun takes his grocery bags and disappears into the kitchen, he’s not sure anymore.

He slumps onto the sofa while Jisung and Chenle bicker about whether or not they should start a fire in the fireplace and watches them all whir around the house. They’d probably done more exploring than they’d let on, because Jaemin doesn’t hesitate to pull a teacup from the cabinet to the right and Renjun knows exactly where Mark keeps his matches.

A blanket lands on Mark’s lap, and Donghyuck slumps into the couch next to him.

“Wouldn’t want the wizard to die of hypothermia,” he says offhandedly. Mark wraps the blanket around his shoulders.

“I’m not a wizard,” he says, his heart not really in it. Donghyuck snorts, but doesn’t argue. They both watch the others in silence. Jisung and Chenle have managed to start a fire, but almost kill it again. Renjun shoves them away, managing slightly better to keep it alive. Jaemin is at the stove, with both a kettle and a large pot, and there’s a vague burnt smell that isn’t from the fireplace hanging in the air. Mark shivers, and Donghyuck wordlessly shifts a little closer. Mark stays frozen for a moment, then carefully lets himself lean against Donghyuck’s warm side.

This is… comfortable, Mark realises. He’s warm all along where his side is pressed against Donghyuck, Jisung and Chenle are sprawled out in front of the now-roaring fire, still bickering, Renjun is yawning in Mark’s favourite armchair with Jeno curled up in his lap, and Jaemin is whirling around the kitchen, humming some song Mark doesn’t recognise. His heart feels warm, and he’s not sure what it is.

“How’d it go?” Chenle asks, tilting his head to look up at Mark. “With the pirates?”

“They didn’t agree to the terms,” Mark says, looking down at his lap. He doesn’t need to look up to know the others are staring at him. 

“You’re bound to be whipped by the Wind at some point in your life,” Jaemin says after a moment, emerging from the kitchen to hand him a bowl of soup. Mark shrugs. The others glance at him, realising he doesn’t want to talk more about it, chatter grows.

“It’s fine, anyway,” Donghyuck says, voice low enough for only Mark to hear. “They don’t have to leave, as long as they’re nice, right?” Jeno is watching him, and Mark lifts his head to stare back. _That’s a good idea_. Mark looks at Donghyuck out of the corner of his eye.

“No,” he says after a moment. “No, maybe they don’t.” Donghyuck’s mouth curves in a small smile.

“This soup is actually good,” Jisung says loudly, glancing between Mark and Donghyuck.

“It sure didn’t smell good,” Renjun supplies, and gets a sharp whack.

The warm soup writhes in Mark’s stomach, and for a moment he feels as if he’s floating outside his own body. It’s easier to think, disconnected from the warmth and laughter surrounding him. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t let these boys get close to him, he shouldn’t be letting his guard down. Mark blinks, falling back to himself, and his skin crawls where he’s pressed against Donghyuck.

“I think I should go to bed,” he says, a little bit louder than necessary. Chenle stops short, clearly in the middle of a story, and Jeno opens his slitted eyes to stare at Mark.

“Well, we’d better get going, then,” Renjun says after a moment, glancing hesitantly at the others. Mark shifts away from Donghyuck, biting down on the shivers running down his spine.

Mark stays wrapped in his blanket as the boys scramble to get their scarves and shoes on, pointedly refusing to meet their eyes as they send him questioning glances. They’re whispering rushed, hushed things, and Mark can’t imagine it’s anything in his favour. _Good_, Mark thinks bitterly. _Maybe they won’t come back_.

Mark only gets off the couch once they’re all dressed and hovering hesitantly by the door.

“It was nice having you here,” Mark says shortly, yanking the door open. The boys file out through the door, and Mark stares at the floor so he doesn’t have to see their disappointment. Jeno files out along with the boys, not even sparing Mark a glance, and Mark’s tense face draws into a scowl. “Goodbye,” he calls after the boys, slamming the door shut behind them.

Mark turns back to his living room, shoulders sagging as he spots the pile of dishes on the coffee table.

The sink is overflowing with dirty dishes once Mark finally manages to get it all out of the living room. He halfheartedly at it, then leaves it with a sigh. He fetches a bucket to douse the fire, then coughs as smoke billows from it.

Mark gets ready for bed – cleans his teeth, refills the glass of water on his nightstand, changes into his sleep clothes – then lingers by the door. Jeno hasn’t scratched the door to come in yet. Mark hesitates for a moment before cracking the door open.

Jeno is curled up at the very edge of the porch, tail draped across his nose and paws tucked under his belly.

“Jeno?” Mark calls quietly. Jeno doesn’t move. “Come on, kitty, it’s late, I’m going to bed.” When Jeno doesn’t respond, a heavy weight seems to settle across Mark’s shoulders. “Alright. Just scratch on the door when you want to come in.” Jeno, again, makes no move, and Mark waits for a moment before closing the door with a click.

Mark spends the whole night tossing and turning, waking at every creak in the old floorboards and every whistle of the wind through the chimney. After a few hours he gives up, slipping out of bed to put on the kettle.

The weather has abated by the time the sun finally peeks above the hills. Mark sits on his porch with a cup of tea, blanket over his shoulders, and watches it rise. Jeno is curled up next to him, long, black fur damp with dew. Mark reaches a hand down to scratch his ears, but Jeno hisses and dodges.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says. Jeno stays completely still. “I just–” He takes a sip of tea, pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I don’t want to miss them, Jeno.” Mark’s voice is quiet, and he refuses to look down at the cat.

A few moments pass, then Jeno is rolling over to press himself against Mark’s thigh. Mark feels more than hears Jeno purring. Mark squeezes his eyes shut, winds a hand into Jeno’s fur and takes a deep breath. 

They’ll solve it. They always do.

When Mark finally works up the courage to go into town again, the sun is already high in the sky. The town is bustling, villagers cheery and laughing even as they step in puddles and over fallen shingles.

“Hey, Mr Mark!” the apple vendor shouts as Mark passes. Mark flinches, apology right on his tongue as he jerks his head up to see the vendor smiling and waving. Mark waves back tentatively before slipping into the crowd again.

The receptionist barely looks up when Mark steps through the door.

“Back already?” The receptionist scribbles something in his notepad. “You must ‘ave a death wish, boy. Those pirates are nothin’ but trouble.” When Mark hesitates, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Mayor’s in ‘is office.” 

The staircase is no easier today than it was yesterday, and Mark has to pause at the top to catch his breath before knocking.

A weary-looking mayor opens the door, his hair unbrushed and deep bruises circling his eyes.

“Agent,” the mayor says, smiling tiredly.

“Mayor,” Mark replies, following the mayor to take a seat at the table. “I thought I’d check in with you before I went to talk to the pirates.”

“I’m doing alright, thank you, Agent,” mayor Junmyeon replies. “I believe I owe you big thanks already.”

“Don’t say hey until you’ve crossed the Lake, mayor,” Mark says, and the mayor squints a little. “Save your thanks for after we’ve solved the issue.” The mayor smiles a little.

“Well, Agent, I believe we’re well on our way.” Mark bows his head to take the compliment.

“I was thinking,” Mark starts, thinking of Donghyuck and Jeno and pirates, then stops himself. “Right. Nevermind about that. I was thinking I could set up a new meeting with you and only a representative for the pirates tomorrow.” The mayor lets himself sag into the chair with relief.

“Oh, that is wonderful news, Agent,” mayor Junmyeon sighs. “I was dreading tomorrow, but a smaller meeting would be much more manageable.” Mark forces himself to smile, to hold himself upright and not crumple under the pressure across his shoulders.

“Very well, Mr Mayor,” Mark responds. “I’ll do my best. Would a noon meeting work for you?” The mayor nods.

“Yes, noon will work just fine, Agent. Thank you for your visit.” The mayor smiles tightly and Mark gets up from his chair. He’s just at the door when the mayor speaks up again.

“Agent?” Mark turns around. The mayor looks hesitant, as if it’s not something he’s sure he should be saying. Mark waits. “Perhaps it’s best if we… set up separate meetings. Would you do that?” The mayor looks tired, a little desperate, and Mark can feel another weight settle across his shoulders.

“Yes, Mr Mayor,” Mark replies. He makes himself smile. “I’m happy to act messenger, if you feel that’s what would be best.” The mayor smiles in relief.

“Thank you, Agent.” Mark smiles again and closes the door behind him.

The pirate ship is anchored in the same spot as it had been the day before yesterday. Today, Mark doesn’t hesitate below the ship, instead heading straight for the rope ladder and climbing until he can rest his elbows on the railing.

“Hello?” he calls. The pirate ship sways a little, quiet. “Hello?” Mark tries again. No answer.

Mark waits for a minute before climbing the last few rungs and swinging himself over the railing. His shoes land on the deck with an uncomfortably loud thud, and Mark winces. His footsteps are equally loud as he walks across the deck to the wheelhouse.

The door cracks open with a drawn-out whine, and Mark pokes his head into the room. It’s dark, but Mark can just about make out a large map across the back wall, and a large table running along one end of the room.

“Hello?” Mark calls again, a little softer. There’s a horribly thundering from below deck, and after a moment, a trapdoor in the floor swings open to reveal a disheveled Hongjoong.

“Oh, hey, Mark,” the captain says, running a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to extend an apology for the way the meeting went yesterday,” Mark starts, and Hongjoong quirks an eyebrow. “The mayor also extends an apology.” Hongjoong waves a hand.

“It’s cool, we get it. Hot temper, eh?” Hongjoong grins, and Mark blinks a few times.

“Well, the mayor still has a few… things he’d like to get off his chest,” Mark says, carefully watching Hongjoong’s expression. “Perhaps you, as captain of your crew, could come to another meeting tomorrow, let’s say about an hour after noon, to… discuss some things?” Hongjoong rests his elbows on the floor, still half in the trapdoor.

“Discuss some things…” Hongjoong repeats, seemingly to himself. “Yup, great! See you an hour after noon tomorrow!” And with that, he disappears below deck again, the trapdoor swinging shut behind him. Mark stares at the spot for a moment. Then he quietly backs out of the wheelhouse and closes the door behind him.

When Mark gets home, Jeno and the boys are waiting for him on the porch.

“Mr Wizard!” Chenle shouts as soon as he sees Mark over the crest of the hill, waving. Mark raises a hesitant hand to wave back.

The boys are all sprawled over the porch steps, and as Mark gets closer he spots Jeno sitting like a statue at the very last porch step. 

“Are you feeling better today?” Jaemin asks as Mark stops on the first step. Mark glances at Jeno. Jeno stares back.

“Yes, thank you,” Mark says, still half-glancing at Jeno. “I’m… sorry, about yesterday.” Jeno flicks an ear, and Chenle straightens in his seat.

“That’s okay, Mr Wizard. It’s fine to not want guests all the time.” Mark opens his mouth to argue that _No, wait, that’s not what I meant_, but Renjun beats him to it.

“You can be our guest today, if you want,” Renjun says, tilting his head a little to squint up at Mark.

“Okay,” Mark replies without thinking. “What–”

“We’re showing you all our best thawberry thickets,” Donghyuck answers before Mark can ask the question. He stands up, brushing off his jeans and giving Mark a long look. “You’d best bring a basket.” Donghyuck thunders down the porch steps to brush past Mark and hop down onto the grass.

“You actually do need a basket,” Jaemin says. “The one in your kitchen should be fine.” Mark frowns, but doesn’t bother to ask Jaemin how he knows exactly where Mark’s basket is. Mark pushes his door open, heading for the kitchen without taking his shoes off. To his surprise, the boys stay outside, chattering with each other.

_ That’s a good thing _ , Mark tells himself.  _ They’re respecting my privacy _ .

He finds the basket in the kitchen, just as Jaemin had said, and hurries back out to the porch.

“So,” Jaemin says, clapping his hands as Mark closes the front door behind him. “Is Jeno coming?” Mark eyes the cat, sitting at the edge of the porch. A _No_ is on the tip of his tongue, but after a moment Mark just says,

“We’ll see.” Jaemin nods solemnly, and Renjun reaches out to give Jeno’s ears a quick scratch before straightening up.

They walk for almost an hour, until they arrive at a copse of woods nestled in a small dip in the hills.

“Those,” Jaemin says, pointing at a large bush with dark green leaves, “are thawberry bushes.” Renjun crouches down next to the thicket, squinting at it for a few moments before sticking his hand in and reemerging with a handful of berries.

“They’re supposed to look like this.” Renjun holds up a cluster of bright blue berries.

“You’ve gotta remove the membrane first,” Jaemin says, reaching for Renjun’s berry cluster. “Here, like this…” With nimble fingers he picks off a thin membrane. He throws it back into the thicket and drops the berries into Renjun’s basket.

Mark crouches down in front of the thicket. It’s easy to find the berries, their bright colour immediately visible. Mark carefully reaches a hand out to pick it. The membrane is hard to get a grip on, slippery and almost a little cold to the touch, and Mark almost drops the berry.

“Start at the stem,” Donghyuck says, shuffling closer. He reaches out to curl a hand around Mark’s, and when Mark looks up he can see Donghyuck’s ears reddening furiously. Mark quickly looks down again, and lets Donghyuck help him pick the membrane off the berry. It really is easier to grab hold of the membrane at the stem, and as soon as Mark manages to peel the membrane off Donghyuck shuffles away to the other end of the thicket.

“Thank you,” Mark says after a moment. Donghyuck doesn’t reply, but his ears are still glowing bright red. They pick berries in silence for a while.

“I envy you, you know,” Chenle says after a moment. Mark doesn’t look up from his basket, reaching out to pick another cluster of berries. He can see Chenle looking at him from the corner of his eye. “You get to travel the world, and meet people, and _help_.” Mark fiddles with his berry cluster, picking it free of its thin membrane.

“It’s not all it’s made up to be,” Mark replies after a moment. It puts a sick, twisted feeling at the bottom of his stomach, and Mark reaches out for another berry. He can feel Donghyuck watching him, too, as if he can see the way Mark’s skin crawls with discomfort. Mark forces himself to steady his shaking hands.

“Hey, Chenle, tell Mark about that time you and Jisung almost got the mayor hospitalised.” Chenle laughs, and immediately launches into some complex story somehow involving lassoos and woodland nymphs. Mark floods with relief, looking up to give Donghyuck a small smile.

Their baskets are almost full when Jaemin suddenly stands up to stretch. 

“My knees hurt,” he complains, and Jisung snorts.

“You’re getting old,” Jisung tells him, Chenle snickering from the other side of the thicket.

“What does that make me?” Renjun demands, but they’re all laughing when Renjun aims a half-hearted kick at Chenle. Jaemin turns to Mark.

“Do you have a ball?”

Mark does, apparently, have a ball. Jisung finds it at the back of his closet, stuffed behind some of Mark’s old city trousers and a broken querygram he’d forgotten he put there. Jeno follows them out onto the hill, sitting calmly at the ridge of the hill.

“Ever played sheep?” Renjun asks. Mark shakes his head. “We kick the ball around, and whoever drops it gets the first letter,” he explains, and some dusty corner of Mark’s mind rings with recognition.

“We used to spell horse,” Mark says, and Jaemin tilts his head.

“That works, too,” Chenle says, and they start. It’s a fun game, but it’s definitely the most exercise Mark has done in decades, and after only a few rounds he opts to sit down to the side instead. He watches the boys play another round, then lowers himself down into the grass.

Mark hears the boys hollering as somebody loses. A moment later, somebody collapses into the grass next to him. Mark doesn’t need to turn his head to know it’s Donghyuck. They lie in silence for a while. Mark carefully turns his head to look at Donghyuck.

“Can I ask you a question?” Donghyuck is looking up at the sky, and Mark drags his eyes from the curve of his nose back to the clouds.

“Yeah, sure.” There’s a cloud in the shape of the Lake, a few wispy strands trailing after it resembling the huge network of rivers that run down from the North. Mark almost wants to stretch out a hand, see if he can touch it.

“Have you ever been in love?” 

It’s not the question Mark had been expecting. He glances over at Donghyuck again. The other boy is sprawled out in the grass, eyes closed and grey hair falling in a halo around his head, a stormy cloud against the bright green.

He’d been in love with the world, once. With the Universe. The magic of everything – not just the Signs, but with the new colours of the sunsets, with the huge, bustling cities and with the small town inns. With the new people, the stories, the lifetimes and lifelines he was privileged enough to be part of. But he’s never been _in love_, not in the sense he thinks Donghyuck is asking.

“No,” Mark answers, because that’s the easy answer. He’d been in love with the world, and sure, he’d kissed a few people, decades ago, but Mark hasn’t ever had time for love.

“Why not?” Donghyuck asks, and Mark hears the grass rustle as Donghyuck turns onto his side to face Mark. It takes Mark a moment to answer.

“I don’t stay anywhere for long,” Mark says. “You can’t fall in love in a week.” Donghyuck is still staring at him, and Mark turns his head. They stare at each other for a while, and for once Mark lets his eyes linger. Follows the curve of Donghyuck’s jaw, the slope of his nose, over to the moles dotting his cheek. Just as Donghyuck opens his mouth to say something, Jaemin appears over the ridge of the hill.

“Come on! Donghyuck, it’s getting late, we need to head back.” Mark is off the ground so quick his head spins.

“I should start with dinner, too,” he says once Jaemin is within earshot. He can feel Donghyuck looking at him, still propped up on one elbow in the grass, but doesn’t dare look down. He catches the ball Jisung throws to him, then finally dares look down at Donghyuck.

“Help me up?” he asks, stretching out a hand, and Mark takes it to pull him off the ground. Donghyuck steps back as soon as he’s up, giving Mark a small smile before jogging to join the others. Mark and Jeno stand next to each other, waving at the boys as they disappear over the ridge of the hill.

Mark doesn’t wait for an invitation when he arrives at the town hall the next morning. He just waves a greeting at the receptionist and bounds up the stairs to knock at the mayor’s door.

“Ah, Agent,” mayor Junmyeon says as he opens the door, smiling. The mayor waits until Mark is settled at the table before pulling a formal scroll from his bookshelf, smoothing it open in front of Mark.

“What’s this?” Mark asks, skimming through the contents. Mayor Junmyeon smiles a little sheepishly, bringing a hand up to scratch at his neck.

“Ah, well,” the mayor starts, “I couldn’t quite sleep last night, so I drew up a draft of a contract detailing the agreement I would like with the pirates.” Mark stares at the scroll.

“Jolly, Mr Mayor,” Mark says, almost doing a double take as Chenle’s phrase slips off his own tongue. “We can look this over, and I’ll present it to the pirate captain.”

The contract is well-written, Mark is almost surprised to find, and he doesn’t end up making very many changes. After almost an hour, the mayor is shifting in his seat, glancing at the sundial in the window. Mark makes a show of straightening in his seat, gathering the pencils and rolling the scroll up again.

“Thank you, Mr Mayor,” Mark says, and mayor Junmyeon smiles in relief. “I’ll see you again after the captain has left to give you the scroll.” 

“Wonderful, Agent, thank you.” Mayor Junmyeon stands up, brushing invisible dust off his pants. “I’ll tell Gyeong downstairs to let the captain up when he arrives.” Mark connects the name to the wiry receptionist and nods at the mayor. The mayor closes the door, and Mark is left to listen to his footsteps slowly tapping their way down the stairs.

Hongjoong whirls into the room without knocking not a quarter of an hour later, and Mark scrambles out of his seat to shake his hand.

“Hey, kid,” Hongjoong grins, slumping into a chair opposite Mark. Mark smiles at him and unties the scroll’s bindings.

“So,” Mark starts, smoothing out the long scroll of paper in front of him. “This is a rough draft of a formal contract between you, as representative of the pirates, and the mayor of Weboum Valley.” Hongjoong is bouncing his leg under the table, barely skimming over the contents of the contract as Mark pushes it across the table.

“Right, but we told you we didn’t want to leave.” Hongjoong lifts his head to look at Mark with sharp eyes. “Who’re you, again?”

“I’m Agent Lee Mark, Envoy of the Universe,” Mark says. He can’t be bothered to state his rank and department. Not that it would mean anything to Hongjoong anyway. He fishes his badge out of his pocket and hands it over.

“And you and the mayor want us to leave,” Hongjoong says without looking up. It’s not a question. Mark presses his fingers in circles around his temples.

“It’s not that simple–” he tries, but Hongjoong is still inspecting the badge Mark had handed him.

“This says you’re, like, really old,” Hongjoong interrupts, and Mark sighs. Hongjoong looks up to squint at Mark. “What moisturizer do you use?”

“Look, I don’t know, I just…” Mark sighs again and reaches for his badge. Hongjoong lets him have it, folding his arms and kicking his legs up onto the table. “You’re ruining the economy.”

“Isn’t that what pirates do?” Hongjoong twirls one of his rings around his finger, and Mark stares at it for a while.

“You’re scaring the villagers, and it’s not–” Hongjoong sits up straight, suddenly attentive.

“Wait, you mean they don’t like us?” Mark stares at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he’s being serious.

“Well–” he starts, but Hongjoong keeps going.

“The kids, they like us, right? They keep asking us what makes our ship float and what the Lake looks like.” Hongjoong is completely genuine, Mark realises. Mark opens and closes his mouth a few times, cogs turning in his brain. Redirect. Change tactics.

“The adults think you’re mean, though,” Mark tries. “I mean, you do steal from their shops, and this is an official complaint from the mayor–” Hongjoong slumps back in his chair. Mark looks at him for a moment. “Maybe you could try… not stealing? Getting jobs and… I don’t know, paying for the apples?” Hongjoong looks at Mark for a moment.

“Maybe…” he says, and Mark takes a deep breath. “We like it here.” Mark thinks of Donghyuck.

“And they’ll let you stay, if you’re nice,” Mark says, and by the Winds will the mayor have things to say to Mark. But that’s for later. Hongjoong nods thoughtfully.

“We’ll be the best pirates in the area,” Hongjoong muses. “Kids already love us, and if we’re nice to the adults…” Mark unrolls the scroll and clears his throat.

“If you’ll just sign this,” he pushes the scroll across the table to Hongjoong, “the mayor is going to be really happy.” The mayor is going to be so angry at Mark, but that feels like a smaller problem in the vastness of the Universe. The safety and happiness of a whole valley over one person’s hurt pride. Hongjoong considers the scroll for a moment, then picks up the pen and draws a large star across the whole bottom half of the parchment.

“There.” Hongjoong pushes the scroll back to Mark with a bright smile. Mark looks at it for a second, then rolls it closed and stands up. He stretches out a hand that Hongjoong shakes enthusiastically.

“Thank you, Captain,” Mark says, and Hongjoong beams back at him, still shaking his hand. “I’ll, uh, take these to the mayor.”

“You got it, kid.” Hongjoong gives Mark’s hand a few last shakes, then strides out of the room, boots clicking against the wooden floor. Mark slumps back in his seat and puts his head in his hands.

The mayor storms in not three minutes later looking like a thundercloud. Mark stands up to wait for the mayor to sit down, but the mayor stops at the head of the table and puts his hands on the back of the chair. Mark remains standing and pushes the scroll Hongjoong had signed across the table.

“What’s this?” Mayor Junmyeon picks up the scroll. He stares at it for another minute before turning it over to show Mark. “What’s this?” he repeats, slowly, and by the Universe, Mark had been right. 

“He signed the papers,” Mark says, and it’s an effort to keep himself from collapsing back into his chair again. Mayor Junmyeon’s knuckles are white on the back of the chair. “They’ve agreed to be more… civil, in the future.” 

“When are they leaving?” Mayor Junmyeon finally sits down in the chair, and Mark gratefully collapses back into his. 

“They’re… not,” Mark says. “They’re not leaving, Mr Mayor.” Mayor Junmyeon stares at Mark for a long moment, then turns to stare at the signed scroll, then back at Mark.

“But–” he starts, then stares some more at the scroll. “The clause about–”

“Mr Mayor,” Mark says, and he is _so tired_ of formalities and bureaucracy and clauses. “This is what’s best for the valley. The Universe wills it.” Mayor Junmyeon looks up at Mark, and he looks… small, and scared. No matter how many adults look to Mark with that expression, he’ll never get used to it. The Will of the Universe scares most, and in their eyes, Mark is half-boy, half-Universe. His first few missions, he’d been so proud to be the one with answers and solutions, but. _But_. After a few decades of caring for everyone else, of caring for the Universe, Mark had started wondering if it was selfish to want to be the one taken care of every once in a while.

The mayor looks down at the scroll again and traces the clear paper where the clause had been when Mark entered the room.

“The Universe wills it,” the mayor breathes to himself, then seems to compose himself. He squares his shoulder and pushes his chair back. Mark follows suit. “Thank you for your services,” mayor Junmyeon tells Mark formally, and Mark shakes his hand. 

“Don’t thank me, thank the Winds,” Mark replies automatically. The mayor nods once, firmly, and strides out of the room.

As soon as the door falls shut behind the mayor, Mark lets himself slump over the table, putting his elbows on the waxed wood and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. _The Universe is unyielding, and rewards those who see Things through_. Mark can almost remember his mother’s voice. He scrubs his hands over his face, then straightens up. 

He’ll be leaving tonight. He’ll have to go to the market to stock up his pantry, and he’ll have to grease the boom on his sail, it’s started creaking the past few years but greasing it helps a little. Maybe, if he has the time, he can ask Donghyuck and Chenle to show him back to the copse of woods where they picked thawberries, he’s gotten quite addicted to the tea…

The thought of the valley boys makes Mark’s stomach heavy. Mark ignores it, dragging his feet out of the meeting room and starting down the curling stairs. He’s leaving tonight, finally. This is what he always looks forward to. For anywhere between a few days and a few months, he’ll be flying. Up in the air, no company but Jeno and nothing to worry about except for the occasional tear in his sails. _This is what I’ve been looking forward to_, Mark tells himself firmly.

The boys aren’t on his couch when he gets home. Mark drops his bags by the door, toes off his shoes and pads through the entire house. He looks in the pantry, behind the bookshelves, even under his bed. His house remains empty save for Jeno, who’s watching him with slitted eyes from his perch on the bookshelf.

Mark stands in the middle of the living room for a few moments, then picks up his bags of groceries and puts them in the pantry. Then he does his dishes. Then he reorganises his bookshelf by language and in alphabetical order. When there’s nothing left to do, Mark sits in his favourite armchair and listens.

For the first time in his life, the silence leaves Mark feeling empty.

When Mark wakes up the next morning, the house is unsettlingly still and quiet. He’d expect to feel the soft sway of Wind, and hear his windchimes tinkle, but the house is quiet. And still. Mark gets out of bed and lifts a curtain. Then drops it, and lifts it again. The same rolling, green hills are outside his window, soft pink clouds nestled in the valleys. He opens his bedroom door and turns to Jeno, who’s blinking sleepily from a windowsill.

  
“Why are we still here?” Mark demands, and Jeno mewls. Mark sighs. “The pirates signed the papers yesterday, so _no_.” Jeno turns to look out the window again, and Mark reluctantly turns back into his bedroom to get dressed.

Mark is still sitting on his couch a few hours later when Donghyuck barges in.

“What are you still doing here?” Donghyuck demands, throwing himself into Mark’s favourite armchair.

“I don’t know,” Mark answers honestly, still staring at the wall, and Donghyuck stops for a moment.

“Are you, like, stuck?” Donghyuck asks, and Mark tears his eyes from the wall to look at him. “You haven’t, like, accidentally secured your house?”

“_No_,” Mark says, and Donghyuck snorts. He flops back into the armchair and kicks his feet up again.

“Well, I’ve decided to bless you with my company today.” Mark glances at Jeno, who’s blinking sleepily at him from the top of the bookshelf. He sighs.

“Do you want tea?”

The others show up a few hours later. Mark and Donghyuck are curled up with a book each, Mark in his favourite armchair and Donghyuck in a corner of the couch.

“What are you reading?” Renjun asks, hooking his chin over Donghyuck’s shoulder. Mark tunes out their conversation and turns to Jaemin, who’s already got a purring Jeno in his arms.

“There’s tea in the kitchen, if you’d like,” Mark says, and Jisung disappears into the kitchen, Chenle on his heels. Jaemin settles Jeno into the couch and wanders off to the bookshelf, Jeno immediately jumping into Renjun’s lap instead.

Jaemin returns with a book of his own, and Jisung and Chenle come in carrying the whole kettle and a stack of cups before also disappearing again to raid the bookshelf.

They’re all settled into the couch, silently reading a book each, when suddenly the house shudders. They all look at each other. Jeno mewls, and Mark feels a familiar tug at the pit of his stomach.

They’re flying.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, apparently it takes me months to finish fics now… 
> 
> Better get started on next year’s christmas fic!! (I’m only half kidding lmao)
> 
> Come shout at me: [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/adventarson)


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